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The stakeout wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Haru had hoped that he and Daisuke would come out of the assignment with some new intel, maybe a lead or two, just anything to help them track down their latest suspect. Even spending the day wandering around the current downtown festival would have been just fine in Haru’s book.
Instead, he embarrassed himself in front of the millionaire—or was it billionaire?—by puking his guts out only hours after eating what he thought was harmless street food.
Screw that dumpling-selling bastard for not fully cooking his meat! Haru thought, clutching his doggie bag full of puke.
Daisuke, for his part, had refrained from any snide remarks or overt sneering. Maybe he had a human bone in his body after all.
“Katou, are you finished?”
Haru groaned, reaching a hand down to massage his stomach. “For now.”
“Good. I’ll take you home before you soil my car.”
There it was.
Haru only sighed in response, too nauseous to argue. Besides, at that moment nothing sounded better than laying on the cool tile floor in his bathroom. Food poisoning was nothing new for Haru, who, given his at times precarious financial situation, had eaten some questionable food when he needed to. Or, when he just didn’t care about what went in his body, so long as it kept him awake and working.
Daisuke arrived at Haru’s apartment in no time, which Haru blamed on HEUSC’s navigation, not to mention the driver’s indifference to Japanese traffic laws. Haru’s hazy mind probably didn’t hurt the short drive time, either.
Haru staggered out of the car, making sure to dispose of his doggie bag in the community bins. No way was he going to have that stink up his already less than ideal apartment.
To his surprise, Daisuke followed Haru up the stairs. Halfway up, Haru paused and faced his partner, partially out of annoyance and partially due to his uncertainty that he could make it the rest of the way up. “Oi, you don’t need to come in. I’m not really sick.”
Daisuke smirked at him. “I can see that. Still, I wouldn’t want to be blamed if anything happened to my partner, especially when I’m aware of your current situation.”
A professional courtesy. That’s all this was. Of course. Haru sighed, too tired and nauseous to argue, to insist that his apartment was messy (it wasn’t) and unfit for visitors (that was debatable). He just wanted to lie down and let the illness pass. At the very least, he’d mustered up enough stubborn energy to finish the climb up the stairs and unlock his door.
Haru promptly stumbled to the bathroom, letting out a sigh of relief as his knees came into contact with cool tile, his head following shortly.
“Are you not going to change?”
Fuck, Daisuke was still there. “No.”
“Won’t it cost more for you to dry clean your work clothes than to stay put?”
Haru couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smirk on the billionaire’s lips. Still, the rich bastard was right. He couldn’t afford dry cleaning, not until he could deposit his next paycheck. He groaned as he sat up, leaning against the wall for support, and started loosening his tie. As he unbuttoned his shirt, Haru felt eyes watching him.
“What are you looking at, bastard?”
“You didn’t get any clothes to change into.”
“Yeah.” Haru was too ill to care that Daisuke was right, or that he was basically stripping in front of him. “You can leave,” he muttered, pulling his shirt off.
Surprisingly, Daisuke left Haru’s line of vision. Thank goodness. Haru was pretty sure that he was going to vomit again, any minute now, and the last thing he needed was Daisuke being witness to that. Again.
Haru gagged as he shimmied out of his pants, just in time for him to toss them outside, away from any possible danger as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Didn’t he just do that? How could he have anything left to puke up was beyond him. As was the hand that rested upon his naked shoulder.
Haru heaved in deep breaths until he was positive that he was done for now before reaching up a shaky arm and flushing. He looked back and almost pinched himself because there was no way Daisuke’s hand was the comforting presence he’d felt while he was puking. Surely, he was hallucinating, right?
“I found some appropriate attire for the current situation.” Nope, definitely real. No one else could sound so detached from human emotion.
“Thanks,” Haru muttered, pulling the t-shirt over his head. He decided to not tell Daisuke that he’d grabbed his nice gym shorts instead of his cheap ones, because who was he kidding? Everything in his house was cheap in Daisuke’s book.
“Is there anything else you require to treat this illness?” Daisuke helped himself to poking around Haru’s medicine cabinet, his frown growing deeper. “You have no nausea medicine,” he bluntly stated.
Haru groaned. “I wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway. It’s fine, I’ll be okay, really.” Haru hissed in pain as he resumed his position on the floor, massaging his stomach. He blinked a few times, and noticed a glass of water on the floor. “I can’t drink water right now, either,” he muttered, placing an arm over his eyes.
Daisuke hummed. “Do you have anything you can keep down?”
“No.” God, Haru just wanted some peace and quiet. A dull ache had started to form behind his eyes.
“I’ll be right back. Try to drink some water.” Daisuke’s footsteps faded, the door opened, and the apartment fell into blissful silence.
Haru sighed, carefully, so as not to upset his stomach further. He knew Daisuke was right, that he should at least try to get some fluids in himself, lest he risk dehydration. Even before he’d gotten himself sick, he knew he hadn’t been drinking enough water for someone as active as he was.
The glass of water seemed to stare back at him when he finally opened his eyes. Fuck it, if I can’t keep it down, that’s that. He took a small sip, then another, surprised at how thirsty he felt. Maybe he’d regret this later, but his throat had stopped burning for now.
Whatever, he thought, closing his eyes again. I’ll be fine. Daisuke’ll probably be back soon.
“HEUSC, what do people drink with an upset stomach?” Daisuke wasn’t an idiot, he knew how to treat an upset stomach. Just not one like this. Usually, he’d be given a tablet, and his nausea would subside. He had no idea what to do if someone couldn’t keep down enough water to swallow a pill.
“Search results indicate that a carbonated beverage is best, for example, ginger ale, lemon-lime soda—”
“Find the nearest store with ginger ale.” That sounded familiar to Daisuke, perhaps an old wive’s remedy that had circulated amongst his childhood friends.
Turns out, the nearest convenience store had ginger ale, and plenty of it. Daisuke selected a six pack, paid with a ¥10,000 bill, told the clerk to keep the change, and sped back to Haru’s dingy apartment.
No, dingy wasn’t the right word. It was certainly worse for wear, and several people had clearly lived there beforehand, but it wasn’t filthy. Perhaps run down? Yes, that sounded right. Looked about right, too, especially with the crooked wooden stairs leading to Haru’s floor.
Maybe he would pay for repairs in the near future. Not that Haru needed to know, he always hated when Daisuke used his money to fix things. Not today, though. The inspector hadn’t protested Daisuke leaving to pick up something to settle his stomach. Of course, that could be due to his illness. Not that it was relevant, they both knew he’d be over it soon enough.
Daisuke pushed open the front door, still unlocked. He peeked at the bathroom, noted Haru’s figure, still lying where he’d left him. The glass of water had been emptied about two-thirds of the way down, more than he’d expected.
“I’ve brought you ginger ale,” Daisuke stated, placing a can beside Haru’s head. He paused, taking in Haru’s appearance.
His partner, if anything, seemed worse than when he’d last seen him. A flush decorated his cheeks, and his breath was considerably more labored. Daisuke crouched down to shake Haru’s shoulder. “Katou, you need to drink something.”
Haru cracked one eye open, groaned, and tried to push himself upright. Daisuke heaved his partner up, concern beginning to develop in his stomach with the heat he felt through the shirt.
Haru, for his part, didn’t protest the manhandling. He felt like shit, so much so that he didn’t care that Daisuke was the one to see him like this.
“Drink.” Daisuke held an open can to Haru’s face, clearly expecting him to take it. Instead, Haru pushed it away.
“Already tried,” he mumbled. “Couldn’t keep it down.”
Daisuke’s eyebrows furrowed, ever so slightly. “How many times have you vomited since I left?”
Haru tried to think of a good answer, a number that wouldn’t get him whisked away to a hospital, as Hoshino had once done during a similar bout of illness. “Three, I think.”
Wrong answer. Daisuke’s frown deepened. “You need to drink this,” he insisted, holding the can to Haru’s lips this time.
Haru gulped, but opened his mouth and allowed Daisuke to give him a sip of ginger ale. “Happy?” he asked, resting his head on the wall behind him.
“If you can’t keep that down, I’m taking you to see my physician,” Daisuke threatened. “You’ve developed a fever, and I won’t risk you getting any sicker."
That made Haru laugh, or rather, he snorted some air out of his nose. “I didn’t expect you to be the mother hen type.” He swallowed uncomfortably. Nope, I refuse to go to the hospital today, especially to the one Kambe goes to.
Daisuke gave no response, instead placing the remaining cans in Haru’s fridge. “I would prefer that you don’t die, that’s all.”
“Oh, please! You let me fall off a bridge—” Haru gulped, trying to keep bile from rising. “And hit me with sleep gas—” he retched this time, lunging for the toilet and holding onto the rim for dear life.
Daisuke appeared at his side in an instant, pressing one hand beneath Haru’s damp bangs, the other resting on his back as he heaved for air.
“We’re going to the hospital. Your fever is too high from a lack of fluids.”
“No!” Haru gasped. “No hospital. Please.” His fever-glazed eyes met Daisuke’s cool gaze. “One more time, and I’m done, you win.”
“There’s nothing to win. You’re very ill.” If Haru didn't know any better, he'd say his partner sounded worried. Daisuke took the hand towel from beside the sink, and placed it beneath him as he sat next to Haru. “If you have a phobia of hospitals—”
“I don’t. I just—” Haru sighed, his breathing finally evening out. “I wouldn’t want to take up a hospital bed when I don’t need to. It’s just food poisoning, after all,” he muttered.
Daisuke chuckled. “You truly are a self-sacrificing idiot, Katou.” Haru grumbled, surprised when his head found a resting place on Daisuke’s shoulder. He was more surprised when Daisuke didn’t shove him off immediately. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered.
Drowsiness soon overtook his senses, dulling the ache in his stomach muscles and head. Haru couldn’t tell if he was dreaming when he felt a hand card through his hair, but he wasn’t about to complain either way.
He must’ve fallen asleep, because when he woke up, Haru felt his mattress beneath him, not tile. He groaned, reaching for his phone, which, he discovered, was plugged in on his nightstand. Did Daisuke do that?
A piece of paper had been hidden beneath his phone. Haru squinted at the message, written with impeccable penmanship:
Katou,
Don’t hesitate to reach out if your symptoms worsen. Kiyomizu cleared you to remain home today. Take advantage of your time to recuperate.
Best,
Kambe Daisuke
Haru snorted at the professionalism on display, yet felt touched. Daisuke had taken care of him for quite a while without complaint, and without asking for anything in return, at least for now. That was fine with Haru. Daisuke still owed him for the bridge ordeal, something he had no problem with bringing up.
Still, part of him thought that Daisuke wouldn’t want compensation, even with all the time he’d spent in Haru’s apartment.
The thought put a smile on his face, where it remained until he fell into a peaceful sleep.